A scarlet Alfa Romeo sat opposite my Opposite Michelle s house, the driver s window wound down a crack, two figures inside blurred and indistinct through the rain-spattered windscreen. Jennifer and her photographer, Frank.
The Oldcastle CID grapevine strikes again.
Looked as if none of the other media had got wind of it yet: if they had, the whole place would ve been swarming with the bastards. have to do, OK?
I blinked.
Yeah.
Gillis dropped the keys into my open hand. I mean it, anything you need you let me know. Well if I can.
Why?
Gillis sniffed, pursed his lips, making his moustache bristle.
Keep trying to imagine what it d be like if the bastard snatched one of my kids. He shook his head, dirty yellow curls boun-cing around his bald patch, then pointed at the big black BMW pulling up on the other side of the road. If there was any way Dickie could keep you on, he would. You know that, right?
I opened the car door and climbed out into the rain.
He followed me. And don t worry about the Noah McCarthy thing: I saw you trying to save him.
Gillis turned up his collar and hurried through the puddles to the waiting BMW. Dr McDonald peered out from the back seat, fingers spread on the window, biting her bottom lip as the car pulled away from the kerb. Down to the end of the road the brake lights flared, then a right and they were gone.
Cold water trickled down the back of my neck as I stood there, staring after them.
It was too early to pay Steven Wallace a visit. Have to wait till it was dark and he was at home and everyone was asleep. And Dickie would have him under surveillance by now So it wasn t as if I could just march up to the front door and kick it in.
But what if it wasn t him? What if Steven Wallace didn t have a hidden room built into his refurbished wine cellar so he could torture twelve-year-old girls to death?
It wasn t worth the risk.
I looked up at the house.
Dickie was right: I should go in and be with Michelle. Play the supportive ex-husband. Pretend it ll all be OK. Sit in the dark and wait for them to find Katie s body.
I got back in the car and pulled out my phone.
Sabir picked up on the eighth ring. Better be important, I was havin a crap!
I need the names and addresses of every suspect you ve had for the last seven years.
Silence.
Sabir?
Ash I m dead sorry about Katie. But Dickie s been on to all of us: we can t give you nothin. I can t. Look, we re doin our
I hung up. Tried Henry instead.
His mobile rang, and rang, and rang, then went to voicemail.
Henry, it s Ash, I need you to call me back. It s urgent.
The windows were steaming up. I drummed my fingers on the dashboard. Waited.
Tried again. Got the same recording telling me to leave a message after the beep. Hung up.
Fuck! I slammed my palms against the steering wheel. Took a deep breath. FUCK! Fucking, shit-fucking
FUCK! AAAAAAAAAGH! FUCK! Spittle flecked the windscreen.
My throat burned, pulse throbbing in my forehead, little sparks of light glittering behind my eyes.
A knock on the driver s window. I looked up, but the glass was opaque with fog. I wound it down.
It was Jennifer, standing there underneath a black umbrella, all huddled up in her camel-hair coat, eyes pinched. She leaned forwards.
Erm Ash, are you all right?
No comment.
She looked down for a moment. Then back again. I know we Look, it s not important what happened between you and me, is it? What matters is Katie.
I said, no comment.
Ash, I want you to know the Castle News and Post will do everything we can to help get Katie back. You could put out a personal appeal? She licked her lips. We could make the Birthday Boy see what kind of pain and damage he s doing. Maybe run a photo of Katie s room, a couple of quotes from her mother?
It s Saturday. Her birthday s on Monday. I turned the key in the ignition. By the time he reads anything in your rag she ll already be dead.
HM Prison Glenochil an hour and a half south of Oldcastle. A couple of rusty hatchbacks huddled in front of the bland, slab-faced reception building, but other than that the car park was empty.
I tried Henry s number one more time: bloody voicemail again. Then called Weber instead. At least he was answering his phone.
Hello?
It s Ash.
Ah A breath. Then a muffled, Excuse me, I have to take this A clunk, some rustling, and Weber was back. Where are you?
I need the names of all the suspects Dickie s got
Don t be an idiot. ACC Drummond s crawling all over me, and that slippery shite Smith is right behind him, taking notes. I want to help, you know that, but they re
I want a couple of names, not a fucking kidney!
I know, I know. Sigh. Look: where are you?
Doing what you should be doing. I killed the link and pocketed the phone; clambered out of the car and marched towards the prison.
